SHE JUST CALLED AGAIN

“I called to ask you if you are still writing;
perhaps you’ve given up on earning money.
You waste your time on all this petty fighting,
composing one-line jokes that are not funny,
and dreaming of the life you could be living
if you got off your ass, put on your shoes,
and got down to the business of forgiving.
Give it a try. What have you got to lose?"
I didn’t take her call: ignored the ringing
and let my voicemail catch her latest nagging.
She’s left them since she left me, each one stinging;
these messages have filled my cell to sagging.
So now they’re spilling out onto the table,
like I’d be spilling, too, if I were able.